Each Heartbeat
by sctwilightvampwolfgal
Summary: By beat sixteen, everything has shut down.


He can count every beat of his heart in his chest, like a not so steady drum beat, and he wonders if it can be both too loud at once and not loud enough.

His breath catches in his throat, because it aches, it aches, it aches.

All he can do is wish that Ladybug would be here in a beat, but the next, he wishes that she wouldn't.

Adrien feels like she can drag his pain back to wherever it came from and yet he doesn't want her to be here in this moment, to see him falling apart.

Was that five or six?

His chest screams as his throat clogs up, the sound inevitably can't escape, and somehow that feels worse than screaming.

Is his father home at all? He suddenly can't remember.

If he isn't, then Nathalie probably went with him, so he doesn't forget his schedule that's probably glued to every thought that he has.

I-It's nine, he's pretty sure.

He tries to scream, he really does, because if his father can hear or Nathalie or Gorilla or someone, all of Paris, perhaps, then he's sure the pain will go away.

Where's Plagg? He can't see him; he can't see anything anymore though he could swear that his eyes were open, are open.

His hand tentatively shakes and goes to cling at his chest, trying to reach the beating, the breaking, organ in his chest.

It's fifteen beats when his mind shuts the world down around him, makes him forget for a moment about needing someone to take this pain away; it's all he knows anymore.

At beat sixteen, he screams like he's being chased, like an Akuma's caught his tail, and he can't quite breathe past the scream.

His ears don't register the sound really, and he can't breathe anymore, it stills as hands suddenly cling to him, "Adrien, Adrien!"  
He still can't hear, nothing is there anymore; he can't see, can't breathe, can't make his heart work, and suddenly there's a presence in that room with his father's hands clinging at quickly going cold skin.

Beyond that Plagg is screaming for his kitten; it doesn't matter if his father's there, if Ladybug can connect the dots, because his kitten can't breathe anymore.

Ladybug's hands at warm as they drop on to his cooling skin, but he doesn't feel a thing, doesn't even react when Plagg nuzzles against his cheek before falling away, begging for Tikki, begging for something: Miraculous Cure, Ladybug, heck, he'd even take true love's kiss to wake his child that clearly isn't sleeping anymore.

There's no beat nineteen, nothing past sixteen, and yet everyone in the room that could wish for one, thinks that that's the number that should be here.

His heart should be joyous to have Ladybug by his side if Plagg's presence is anything to note, and his father should at least hear one more beat for life's sake.

It makes no sense as the seconds count by, heartbeats of those in the room hitting way more than twenty, twisting and tearing in sudden agony, and yet the one boy who counted his heartbeats does not open his eyes, no green flickers to life as they had long since shut, and his fingers don't twitch when Ladybug loops her hand around them.

His heart doesn't strike up a symphony or reach for another beat, and so they stand around the bed and wish that it would.

They don't have the peace of mind to think that an ambulance would work and yet when they do call one, it feels too late.

They couldn't have been standing there for so long, for too long, and yet it feels like an eternity when he's pulled onto a stretcher when he's brought to the hospital just to be declared dead: his heart gave out on him.

It's impossible to explain to the city why Cat Noir is no longer there to protect them or why Hawkmoth has resigned; sorrow killing his own being, breaking it down, and regret fills up every broken pore, because he's alone now.

His wife is somewhere, unknown to anyone else, his son has died, and he's left in an empty mansion with dreams that have begun to feel so empty.

If Ladybug cries herself to sleep every night, no one knows; if Marinette barely has the energy past depression to make it to school, no one can stop it.

There was a bright star in their life, but like all stars, it shed its time with a limited count of years.

Pain never felt so real.


End file.
